Under His Influence

by Justine Elyot

  “Oh!” she said, staring widely into his eyes once he had filled her with his hot essence and was lying shiny-faced and heaving-chested by her side. “Maybe it was you. All those years.”

  “Maybe it was me? What? What was me?”

  “I get this thing when I’m asleep. Sleep paralysis. It’s always about someone or something in my room, coming to…I don’t know…coming to claim me. I can never see it, but it makes a hissing sound, and it takes over my body, so that it isn’t mine any more. I feel a bit like you, when I…you know. Just at the moment of…climax.”

  “Delicately put. You mean that when you come, you feel the way you do in those paralysis dreams? I’m not sure that’s a compliment, Anna.”

  “I don’t mean it like that. In the dreams it’s sinister and frightening. But with you, it’s…right. It’s like the dream turned on its head, and made good. And perhaps I was misinterpreting the dream all along. Perhaps it was like a presentiment, or a prediction…of you. Of you coming to…claim me.”

  “Claim you? I like that. Like you’ve had a little ticket with my name on around your neck from long before we met.”

  “I feel like that. I feel like I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “So do I. So much so, in fact… No. I shouldn’t.”

  Anna sat up straight. “Shouldn’t what?” John had that sheepish-boy smirk he sometimes wore when he thought he might have gone too far. He turned away, shaking his head rapidly.

  “No, it’s too soon. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “You haven’t said anything. What, John? What is it too soon for? Please tell me.” Anna, despite her fatigue, began bouncing on the bed, as if the to and fro of the mattress might work as extra cajolery. “I can’t bear secrets! I really can’t. I’m hopeless at keeping them and I get obsessed when I know people have them. Pleeeease tell me. I promise I’ll forget you ever said it afterwards.”

  John chuckled, took her hand, stilled the bouncing.

  “No, you’ll think I’m mad and run a million miles from me. And that—” He kissed her hand, “—is not allowed.”

  “I won’t run. You can tell me your deepest, darkest secrets.”

  “Can I indeed? Well, I’m not sure I’ve got any, but…”

  “You auditioned for Westlife. You’re Lord Lucan. It was you that started the banking crisis off by stealing ten trillion pounds. I knew it. All of it!”

  John kissed her hand again, his lips lingering on the knuckles.

  “You got me. Just don’t tell anyone, okay?”

  “Of course not. Your secrets are safe with me. So spill.”

  He heaved a sigh, playing with her fingers, so delicate and small, twining his own between them.

  “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to,” he opened diffidently. “If you like, you can just call it a present. A token. A love token—because you know I love you, don’t you?”

  Anna’s toes curled and her heart burst at the casual way he had said the words, almost as if they didn’t need speaking, so elementary were they.

  “I… Well, it’s always nice to hear it. And I love you too. Of course. You knew that, right?”

  “I was hoping so.”

  “Gosh, it’s not supposed to happen like that, is it? Except in the fairy tales. You aren’t supposed to fall so far, so fast. But how can you help it?”

  “Exactly. You can’t.”

  “It’s like, once you’ve fallen off the building, you can’t exactly reverse motion. Gravity is gravity.”

  “Gravity. Yes.” He paused, lost in thought for a moment. “And love is love. So, bearing in mind that this can be what you make of it—a love token, or…anything else—” He broke off, picked up his jacket from the side of the bed where he had dropped it, and took a box from the inside pocket.

  “John.” Anna shook her head on catching sight of the maroon velvet. “What have you done?”

  “I guessed your size,” he said, holding it out on the flat of his palm. “I hope I got it right.”

  Anna handled the box gingerly, as if it might burn her, and almost choked with the force of the inhalation when she opened it.

  “John!” She stared wildly, white-faced, at him.

  “Whatever you want it to be,” he repeated softly.

  Colour rushed back into her cheeks. “What if I want it to be…?”

  “Do you? Do you want that?”

  He reached down and plucked the box from her, holding it up to the light so that the diamonds glinted shards of light against the bedroom walls.

  “Oh, John.”

  “Is that yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  Anna had the giddying sensation of a rope being cut or untied and a balloon careering up into the sky, weightless and free, too late to go back now…

  “Then we must do this the right way.” John was off the bed now, pulling Anna by the wrist so that she sat on the side, giggling as he dropped dramatically to his knees and proffered the ring. “Anna, beautiful Anna Rice, will you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?”

  “I will,” she exclaimed, as if surprised at herself, then she burst into delirious laughter, allowing John to sweep her into his arms and lift her from the floor, swinging her around and around until they collapsed on the bed once more.

  “You know,” she said, as he slipped the band of gold with its flower-shaped cluster of diamonds on her finger, “I should probably have been dressed. To receive a marriage proposal. You know, if we were properly following the conventions.”

  “Conventions be damned,” John said, checking that the fit was every bit as perfect as he had planned. “All you need to wear from now on is this. And it fits. Just like you and me, eh?”

  “I feel like I’m in outer space. It’s all unreal.”

  “Outer space isn’t unreal.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. It’s a dream. I’m getting married!”

  “Yes, you are. I probably shouldn’t tell you this…”

  “Another secret?”

  “It’s cheeky, I know, but I booked the Hampstead Register Office for three weeks today. I can cancel, of course.”

  “Three weeks! Three weeks today!”

  “Why wait? Give me one good reason.”

  “I…” Anna, breathless, head spinning, tried to pin one down, but all she could think of were trivial objections like needing dress alterations or booking big venues or having a particular seasonal bouquet. It shouldn’t be about the wedding, should it? It should be about John, her and John, making their vows, being together. “I can’t.”

  “Good. So you should hand in your notice at work. You don’t need to go there, ever again. Think—no more having to face those idiots you were trying to escape when we met. Freedom.”

  Chapter Six

  Liam McGlynn saw his job in the telemarketing department of the Recorder as a stopgap. He was marking time until he figured out exactly what it was he wanted to do with his life. The problem was, all the things he wanted to do were far too popular and competitive, and he lacked the killer instinct or the ambition to pursue them. Snowboarding instructor, superstar DJ, film critic—every young dude about town was after the same few gigs. Liam was good-looking, he was personable, he was popular, but he wasn’t bothered. Botherance was for other people, as far as he was concerned. Just give him a pint of premium cider and an Xbox marathon at the end of the day, and he was content with his lot.

  A woman as well, perhaps. Getting women was easy enough, but they were so demanding once they were got. He had never found one who would just let him be. What did that Mars-Venus geezer say? Men had to go into their cave. Why didn’t the women get this, especially since they were the only people who had ever read the stupid book? He was pondering this—amidst the regrets of the previous night, during which a wannabe model called Kasha had accused him of commitment phobia after their second date—as he booted up his computer on a sunny Tuesday morning. He was checking his list of “Leads f
or Following Up” when the formidable figure of Mimi Leblanc loomed up behind him.

  “Mimi,” he said, greeting her with some complicated finger-origami that ended in a square point at her bosom. “How ya doing, babe?”

  “I’m not your babe. And I’m doing badly. You’re going to be a man down here for the next few days.”

  “A man down?” Liam peered around the office, thinking vaguely that somebody must have been shot.

  “Just had a message from Anna. She’s about to call Worthington to hand in her notice.”

  “Oh, no way! Anna’s leaving? Why?”

  “Well, she didn’t want to talk to me, for some reason, but according to the message, she’s getting married.”

  “She’s fucking what?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I said.”

  “She hasn’t even got a boyfriend, has she? Oh, that guy she met the other day, I suppose. Not him?”

  “Yes. Him.”

  Liam allowed a moment for the full import of the information to filter through.

  “That’s bad,” was his final verdict.

  “I’m glad you said that.” Mimi swooped down so that she was leaning over Liam’s shoulder, her tone urgent and impassioned now. “Because we’re Anna’s friends, aren’t we?”

  “Of course.”

  “And we aren’t going to abandon her in her hour of need, are we?”

  “What…do you mean?” Liam’s gaze came slowly to rest on Mimi.

  “I think she’s making the worst mistake of her life. I think he is…There’s something going on. I want to know what it is. I want to fillet out every last little sliver of information on Mr. John Stone until I find the thing that explains all this.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “I have those skills, Liam. I’m a journalist. But I might need a little help. A little muscle. Perhaps the odd bit of looking-out. Are you in?”

  “You think this geezer’s dodgy?”

  “Yes, Liam. Yes. I think this geezer’s dodgy. Off the level. Bent as a nine bob note. Bad news.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s… Oh God, hundreds of reasons. Just say you’ll be in, Liam. Please? How can I convince you?”

  Liam licked his lips, his gaze directed as ever to Mimi’s glorious cleavage. She rolled her eyes.

  “If you want me to throw you a bone, you have to be a good dog. Can you be a good dog?”

  Liam let his tongue hang out of his mouth, panting.

  “Such a simple creature, aren’t you?” Mimi said, ruffling his hair. “Please, Liam? As a friend? With benefits?”

  “Hey.” Liam was hurt. “I’m not some kind of brute. I’m not saying I expect your favours in return for being a friend. I’m in.” All the same, he could not help thinking that whatever harebrained scheme Mimi was trying to embroil him in might offer copious opportunities for nuzzling. And fondling. Maybe a bit of… Stop. He glanced shamefacedly down at his crotch, which was rising inexorably into an unmistakable pyramid structure. Not ideal in the workplace.

  “You’re in,” echoed Mimi seductively in his ear, doing nothing to dampen the flame of inconvenient ardour. “Await further instructions, action man.” She dropped the lightest little dab of her lips onto his earlobe, leaving her hot breath to linger before hightailing it back to Editorial. Liam, deliberately avoiding her swaying rear view, shut his eyes and thought of advertising revenue before heroically donning his earpiece and setting the working day in motion.

  “Why?”

  Mimi’s first word to Anna as she ran up to greet her for their wedding dress shopping spree wiped the sunshine from her friend’s face.

  “What do you mean, why?” She half laughed, looking around the piazza of Covent Garden as if to canvas opinions on her companion’s meanness from passersby. “Why what?”

  “Why marriage? Why not courtship? Then cohabitation? You know, sanity, as we like to call it.”

  “John said you’d be like this.”

  “Oh, he did, did he? Well, isn’t John the expert on human relations.”

  “Yes.”

  The look in Anna’s eyes suggested to Mimi that she was thinking about sex. She should never have used that phrase “human relations,” she reflected with frustration. Now she was going to have to picture John and Anna having slow, sensual sex in the shower for the rest of the day. Ugh.

  Anna smiled at Mimi and reached for her arm. “He is. Come on. I’m dying to get to the shops. Please be happy for me, even if you disapprove. Can we have an afternoon off from lectures and sensibleness?”

  Mimi swallowed a sharp retort. “You read my e-mail,” she said instead.

  “Yes, I did. And I understand all that. It’s too fast, he’s too old, I’m too vulnerable. But I’m not a child. I can make my own decisions. And I know in my heart that this isn’t wrong. It just can’t be.”

  Anna did look radiantly happy, after all. It seemed cruel not to allow her a couple of hours of blissful bridal nonsense, especially if all the rapture was going to turn to woe once the vows were exchanged.

  “An afternoon,” she said long-sufferingly. “So what are you looking for? Not virginal white, surely.”

  Anna blushed, her birdlike feet dancing around the cobbles. “It’s a Register Office do. It doesn’t have to be big and frothy. But I would like something stunning. Price no object. You know about fashion, Mimi. Where should we go?”

  “Oh, I know just the place, Miss Rice. Forward to Bond Street.”

  Bond Street loved Anna, or rather, it loved John’s money, and she was aglow with achievement and excitement by the time she rolled, giggling and happily loaded with bags, into Café Rouge for soup and a glass of wine.

  “So why the rush?” Mimi asked without preamble once the fishbowl-sized glass of Sauvignon was in front of her. “You can’t be pregnant after five days, presumably. Well, you could be, but you wouldn’t know, I suppose.”

  “Pregnant! Don’t be insane. I’m on the pill anyway. No, it’s just, y’know, that crazy little thing called love.”

  “So you’re making the biggest decision of your life on the basis of a Freddie Mercury lyric?”

  “Mimi! Stop disapproving. You’re like some fierce old aunt or something.”

  Mimi bristled but decided to allow Anna her foolishness. She had to be under some kind of hypnosis. Actually, could that be it? Was he a hypnotist of some kind? Was that why she had had that disturbing urge to look into his eyes which, thank God, she had been able to resist?

  “Can’t I be a fierce big sister, rather than an aunt?” she chided.

  Anna tossed her a conciliatory smile. “You know when it’s right. You just do. You’ll see one day.”

  Mimi was quite sure she couldn’t stomach much more of Anna’s beatific, cliché-strewn relationship advice, so she changed the subject.

  “What about his ozone layer project? Does he speak to you about that?”

  “Oh, no,” Anna said vaguely. “I know he’s working on some top secret thing that’s supposed to save the environment. I wouldn’t have a clue about any of it though, so we don’t really talk about it.”

  “Perhaps you should. It’s a big part of his life, and you’re about to share his life. Why would you have whole areas that are shut off to you?”

  “Mimi, you just want information. You want a scoop. Does the journalist in you ever go off duty?”

  Mimi sighed. “No. And neither does the friend. Remember that. Okay, here’s the food. Let’s eat.”

  Over the course of the succeeding fortnight, Mimi tried, in various subtle ways, to convey her deep misgivings about Anna’s engagement, but it was as if Anna was living in a separate sealed-off quarter of oblivion. Nothing got through to her; she was love-drunk.

  “Either he’s a master of mind control, or a fucking genius in the sack,” she moaned to Liam the day before Anna’s select hen night. “Possibly both.”

  “He’s a fast worker.” Liam nodded sagely. “I wish I had whatever he’s got.”

&nb
sp; “Oh, Liam, you don’t. You’re much better just the way you are.” Mimi leaned over and kissed the side of his neck, making him shiver.

  The hen night was demure—no garish themed costumes or drunken revelry. Anna and four friends spent the afternoon before the wedding at a spa, having facials and massages before eating a light supper and going home early.

  “What about going on to a club?” Mimi suggested in the cab back to London.

  “Mimi! I’m getting married in the morning. I’m not walking down the aisle with a hangover.”

  “Anna.” Mimi took her hands, her voice suddenly low and urgent. “Please don’t do it. Please don’t marry him.”

  “Mimi, stop. I’m going to marry John. I love him.”

  “You don’t know him!”

  “Oh, and you do, I suppose.”

  “He’s so hard to pin down. I’ve spent these three weeks trying to find out about him, but there is so little meaningful information out there about his work or his plans. It’s as if he’s pulled some kind of magic trick—nobody questions him. Nobody! It’s weird. It’s frightening. I’m worried for you, Anna.”

  Anna tried to laugh, but she was obviously both angry and upset.

  “Mimi, I really want us to stay friends, but I have to say that if you carry on like this, I don’t think it’s possible. I never want to choose between you and John, but if I’m forced to, John will win. I mean it.”

  “Right.” Mimi turned her face away, hiding the agony. “Okay. Well, this is us. You’re still staying the night with me? You still want me as your witness?”

  “If it’s what you want, Mimi, of course I do. You’re my best friend. Please don’t spoil the happiest day of my life. Please.”

  “Let’s forget it, eh? Come on. We need sleep. Can’t have you making your vows with whacking great bags under your eyes, can we?”

  She looked beautiful, everybody agreed. When Anna walked up the aisle, radiant in rich scarlet silk, carrying a posy of red and white roses, her hair full of tiny sparkling diamonds, every eye in the room was glued to the vision that had come among them. Nobody looked at John, but if they had, they would have seen a broad smile that would have been interpreted as bursting pride in his beautiful bride. When the vows were spoken, John’s voice filled the room with its confident ring, while Anna spoke more quietly but no less sincerely, her trusting gaze held by John’s throughout the ceremony. The rings were gleaming and the sealing kiss passionate, eliciting applause, and indulgent clucks from the matrons in the room. John’s arm remained around Anna’s waist for the remainder of the register office business—the signing of the register, the taking of photographs and a short burst of song from an operatic tenor before the procession through the banks of guests and out to the grounds.